Free Web NovelChapter 130: Chapter 130
The man trudged home alone after another grueling day at his blacksmith’s forge in Sācar, a tiny, forgotten town tucked deep within the eastern region of Lamora. The moonlight cast a silver glow upon the dirt road that led to his cottage.
His tunic was smeared with soot and sweat, his hands blackened and raw from hours of hammering molten metal into shape.
Now every step he took sent a dull ache up his legs, and his shoulders burned with the strain of labor.
At that moment, the only things occupying his weary mind were the thought of a bath, a hearty meal, and perhaps a few hours of dreamless sleep.
Then, suddenly, a sharp creak split the silence.
The man paused. The night had been quiet a moment ago and he was certain he had been the only one on the road.
He turned his head slowly, scanning the empty path behind him, but there was nothing. Only the faint rustle of leaves in the cold breeze and the soft, rhythmic sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
"Probably a loose branch or a fox," he muttered to himself, though his voice sounded too loud in the quiet. He forced his feet to move again, quickening his pace.
But it wasn’t long before he noticed something strange.There was something off in the air around him. A mist had begun to gather on the road.
At first, it clung to the edges of the path like thin smoke, but within moments it thickened, swirling and rising until the world around him was swallowed whole by fog. The moon vanished behind it, and his visibility shrank to almost nothing. frёewebnoѵēl.com
Then came another crack, only this time it was sharper, and much closer than before.
It made goosebumps spread down his arms.
His heart began to pound harshly in his chest and his instincts screamed that something was wrong.
He tried to ignore the creeping dread curling around his gut, telling himself to keep walking, to just get home. But with each step he took, the air grew colder, and the fog became thicker until he could no longer see his own boots on the ground.
That was when he felt it. An odd presence behind him.
It wasn’t just the feeling of being watched.
He was no longer alone anymore and whatever was there with him wasn’t natural. It was like the air itself had become aware of it.
It was said that there were some people who had the ability to sense when something was not from this world and the man was one of those rumored people.
Then, it happened all at once.
"Don’t go."
The feminine voice came from behind him, soft, and coaxing. Yet there was something wrong about it. Something cold that slithered beneath her gentle tone.
His body froze and his legs refused to move. frёeωebɳovel.com
Panic flared in his chest as he tried to command his limbs to run, but it was as though his very bones had turned to stone.
Then he felt it: a hand, icy and light as mist, trailing up the length of his arm, brushing his neck, his cheek.
He held his breath in fear. The touch sent shivers crawling down his spine, and his heart pounded so violently he feared it might beat right out of his chest.
"I can smell his blood in your veins," the voice whispered, close enough that he could feel the ghost of her breath against his ear. "A long-lost descendant, I suppose."
His eyes darted around, desperate to glimpse whoever, or whatever was beside him. But the fog was too thick, and he hadn’t heard a single footstep approach.
Before he could think, before he could even scream, the world twisted sharply on its axis. The road, the moonlight, and the cold all spun away into nothingness.
And then everything went black.
***
The campfire crackled softly, sending a spray of golden sparks dancing into the dark night air. One of the men seated around it tossed another small log into the flames, and a wave of warmth rippled outward, momentarily easing the bite of the cold.
The weather had turned especially bitter that night, and so they all huddled a little closer to the blaze, grateful for the fleeting comfort it offered.
Just a few feet away, another smaller fire burned steadily, its flames licking at skewered slabs of meat from their latest hunt. The rich scent of roasting flesh drifted across the camp, mingling with the sharper tang of smoke and damp earth.
Gerard, the newest appointed leader of the group, sat cross-legged in the center of a small circle of his officials. The firelight threw shifting shadows across their faces, hardening the lines of fatigue and tension etched into each man.
They had been camped here for weeks now, and their supplies were running dangerously thin.
As Gerard finished speaking to the men before him, a light tap landed on his shoulder. He turned and found another of his officials standing there, one who had not been part of the earlier discussion.
He saw it was Remin. A tall, stone-faced man with a demeanor as cold as the night itself, Remin was known for his aversion to small talk. In truth, few had ever seen him smile, and given the grim state of their situation, no one could blame him for that now.
Remin gave the gathered men a curt nod of acknowledgment before stepping closer to Gerard and leaning in.
"A word, Captain?" he murmured, his voice low enough that only Gerard could hear.
Given that Remin was second only to Gerard in command, and that he rarely spoke without good reason, his request was enough to put the captain instantly on alert. Whatever he had come to say was clearly no trivial matter.
Gerard nodded once and rose to his feet.
Without a word, the two men withdrew toward his tent, seeking what little privacy they could find in a camp so densely packed with restless men. But then again, there was barely any form of privacy to be had when so many of them were spread out on such a small piece of land.
The tents were not soundproof and anyone who happened to be creeping through the bushes was bound to hear something.
The night was quiet save for the distant crackle of flames and the occasional clatter of steel as sentries shifted positions.
Once inside, Remin pulled the flap shut behind them. The canvas rustled softly, slightly muting the outside noise. He turned to face Gerard, his expression grave.
"There are whispers spreading through our ranks," he began without preamble, his tone clipped and measured. "Angry whispers from men who disapprove of your leadership. I suggest you gather everyone together and address—"
Gerard cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Those will not be a problem, Remin. Don’t trouble yourself over idle complaints. Every leader faces opposition at some point, it’s nothing to lose sleep over."
Remin’s eyes narrowed. The firelight from the small lantern in the corner caught the hard lines of his face, making him look even more foreboding.
"You’re right, Captain. One or two complaints are nothing," he said, his voice firm but quiet. "But when a dozen men start echoing the same discontent, that’s no longer idle talk, it becomes a problem and a threat to the order of things."
Gerard’s expression flickered, replaced by a look of contemplation but he said nothing.
Remin took his silence as permission to continue. "The weather will only worsen from here on. Our supplies are dwindling by the day, and the men are weary of remaining in one place while we accomplish nothing. They’re restless, and frustrated. You cannot hold them here forever without reason."
"I have explained this before," Gerard replied calmly, though there was a hint of impatience in his tone. "We can’t move without direct orders from Yannick Tavish. Until we receive word, we stay put. Those are the terms."
"They don’t care about your terms anymore," Remin said bluntly. "They’re cold, weary, and losing faith. Dissatisfied men are dangerous men, Captain. And if you don’t find a way to placate them soon, their anger will turn into something far more difficult to control."
Remin’s words carried the weight of experience. He was a few years older, and had seen firsthand all the things that can go wrong in situations like theirs.
But Gerard’s expression remained unmoved.
"Or what, Remin?" he asked at last, scoffing lightly. "What do you think they’ll do, leave? Perhaps you should remind them that they’re all involved in a rebellion against the crown. The moment any of them defect, they will hang from the king’s tower for treason."
Remin’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I’m sure they’re aware of that."
"Then remind them again," Gerard said firmly. "It seems some have begun to forget that what’s at stake is far greater than their discomfort or impatience."
There was a sense of finality in his words. It was the tone of a man who had made up his mind and would not be swayed.
Remin regarded him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a stiff nod, he turned and strode out of the tent without another word, letting the flap fall closed behind him.
Outside, the murmurs of men and the crackle of fire filled the silence once more. Inside, Gerard stood still for a long time, staring at the dim lanternlight flickering across the canvas walls.
He told himself Remin was overreacting. That the men would fall in line soon enough.
But somewhere, deep down, a quiet unease began to stir.
